Snow White's Stitching
by WhatsGoingOn
Summary: Letting out a silent cry he thanked the Gods; she was her mother's child, just as he had hoped. And Gods be good he would not have it any other way. "Alerie," he cooed to the infant, whom gripped his finger tighter in response. "Alerie Cassel, the most precious jewel in Winterfell," he placed a small kiss on her forehead, "just like your mother." Robb/OC
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own GRRM nor David Benioff and D.B. Weiss's creations, I simply plan to build off of the lovely vision all three have created in books and television. This is my first dabble into the GOT universe, so bare with me and hopefully you enjoy the ride!_

**Prologue**

_"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"_

_Edgar Allan Poe_

There were two sets of cries that day; one of a babe and the other from her father. Jory Cassel's cries however, were not ones of joy as many would suspect, but were instead those of anguish. It had been a day he and his wife Elianna had been waiting for nine months for, and it had not ended as they had expected.

It was thought to have gone smoothly, and after the birth the couple would have their beautiful baby to complete their family. But no, the Old Gods had a different sort of fate in store for the Cassel's. Many people in Winterfell came to pity Jory Cassel that summer's day, for not too long before that he had learned of his father Martyn's death. Many had hoped that things would get better the youngest Cassel, and with the proclamation that Elianna Cassel was starting the birthing process, everyone figured things would get better. Perhaps this was to be Martyn Cassel, the second of his name.

The pregnancy was not a breeze for Elianna as much has she prayed to the Old Gods that it would be. Elianna hailed from House Stane, and at the ripe age of three and ten summers was sent to Winterfell in order to become a proper lady and marry "the young Cassel boy," as her parents told her so.

The city and stronghold was a far cry from Skagos and their clans, but in ways it was not so different. The weather was certainly similar, and though the temperature was far less bitter, she found herself absolutely pleased that the snow continued to fall here on the mainland. People lived in homes that looked different from that on Skagos, yet they worshipped the same Gods in the same manner, all tales of sacrifice and cannibalism was nothing but hogwash and legend.

Maybe it had been like that in the days of the First Men, but the clans of Skagos had all but changed to much more civilized ways, but the gossips on Westeros and of the North would have none of that. No, even the Pooles, from which the Cassels arranged her to stay with and train her as a "proper" lady, would whisper about her when they thought she was sleeping.

She had proved them wrong though; she was excellent at needlepoint, her etiquette nearly perfect, and speech as prompt and proper as it should be. Yes it would seem that the "Skagg" woman was proving to be a surprise to all of those whom encountered her. Jory Cassel, though wary of her at first, had always been kind and dutiful to Elianna and when he began to show more interest in her, well, she was pleased with herself. She vowed when she was under that Weirwood Tree that she would be the most dutiful of wives, the most loving and understanding, and she had done so up until her last moments.

The day the Cassel's found out they were to have a child was a happy one for them. The two had been trying for years to conceive a child, and when the time finally came it was like a blessing from the Gods. Elianna's family even stated that they would come to visit once the babe was born, whom she had only seen briefly on her wedding day.

"We shall name him Martyn, for my father," Jory told his wife late one night as he ran his hands over her ever expanding womb, "he will be a brave warrior as his grandfather is."

Elianna simply sent her husband a bright yet sleepy smile, silently adoring her husband's pride in his father. How she had gotten so lucky to have been married off to a loving, kind man such as Jory? The Old Gods truly were watching over her.

"And he will be your spitting image; raven hair and eyes of ice blue. We will be the envy of every parent in Winterfell, our gorgeous child." His enthusiastic musing were tarnished with tired undertones, and a yawn that could make a lion cringe.

The couple remained in a pleasant silence until Elianna felt her husband slip off into a deep slumber, his arms and hands still tenderly touching her womb where the baby was growing. Before she went to blow out the last candle lighting their bedside, Elie pressed a soft kiss to Jory's forehead.

"If it is a girl, I – I'd like to call her Alerie." It was a mere whisper in his ear, and Elianna blew the candle out before she could even wonder if he had heard her or not.

xxx

Jory Cassel considered himself a rather carefree and jovial individual, and despite his wife's mood swings he retained that nature about him. Being one of the Guards of House Stark was not an easy one, especially with the Lord of Winterfell gone along with a majority of the Guard. Nevertheless, he tried his hardest not to skimp on his duties as a husband when he returned home. This usually entailed a great deal of listening, a task that he never really minded, but when he was tired and Elianna was having one of her mood swings it often proved to be difficult.

His father had told him being a husband would be one of the most difficult yet rewarding jobs he would ever encounter. How right he was; when he had wished to help Elie off of her swollen feet, she had cursed in Old Tongue (no doubt directed at him), before bursting into tears that he thought her weak because she was a woman. Dumbstruck, Jory would usually let his wife vent before she tired herself out and simply allowed him to help her. It was a vicious cycle, which often led him to be tired the following morning, but he persevered because it was the honorable and right thing to do.

He did in fact love his wife, he just had not told her this yet. He knew from experience that many arranged marriages had ended up with both parties loving each other. When he had first met Elianna, he had still been a boy, and an incredibly nervous one.

Jory was of course drawn in by her looks, she was a classic beauty of the North, but what really struck him was how elegant she was. He was no exception to holding judgments and biases upon the Skagosi, and he half expected his bride-to-be to be a flesh-eating savage that only spoke in the Old Tongue. But no, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the young Skane daughter was elegant, eloquent, and well read. She was quite the jewel, and as he began to court her (as his father told him he should despite the betrothal) he found himself wanting to know more and more about her.

It is when she became pregnant did he realize he loved his wife. Jory wanted to burst those words to her when she told him the news, but instead he bit his tongue. He did not know why he did that, halt from professing his love like other husbands did, but it was just how it worked out in that moment.

If anything he was nervous that she would reject him, and why wouldn't she? She was beautiful, intelligent, she could even shoot an arrow far better than him, and Gods knew that she would hardly need him to love her. The Guard did not know this as a truth, but what he knew was a truth was that he needed her like he needed air and water. She was his light; her laughter alone enough to lift his spirits on a weary day, and now she was giving him the greatest gift a wife could give a husband, a child.

Jory did the best he could while Elie was pregnant to comfort her and shower her with affection. He may not have been able to physically say the words 'I love you,' but he thought that perhaps in this case actions could really speak louder than words. Every morning before he was off to go about his duties in Winterfell he tried to fix her up a nice breakfast. The key word here is tried.

Despite his most valiant efforts, anything he tried to cook ended up burnt and in pieces. He would then run to the market to pick up something sweet for her, kiss his wife goodbye, and leave before she even woke up. Breakfast in bed every morning for her, and every evening when he would see the sweet eaten he would smile to himself. He just hoped he was being a good husband and one that she would grow to love as he did her. He knew it would take more than just gifts to be a good husband, even a loving one, but he hoped that she knew he was trying his hardest.

Robert's Rebellion was proving to be much longer than Jory anticipated it would, but he should have known better. Wars were not won in a matter of days, no it would take much longer, but he guessed he was just anxious for his father to return from battle. He had only been able to write him once by raven, to tell him that he was to be a grandfather, but he had never gotten a reply back. It had not been said that he had been slain, so he had high hopes that either the raven carrying the letter was lost to Westeros or there was too much battle occurring for him to actually reply properly.

He had yet to move into the Stark household as his uncle Rodrick and father had done; Jory stated he would wait until the baby was born and he wanted to spend as much alone time with his wife as possible. He was there enough as it was, and even Elianna would occasionally venture there, more oft than not to converse with Lady Stark, whom herself was with child.

He was incredibly thankful of Catelyn's kindness towards his wife, because he knew that deep down she was every bit as wary as the other people of Winterfell were towards the Skagosi woman. All of that aside, she was nothing but gracious and pleasant towards Elianna, and the two seemed to forge a small friendship in dealing with their pregnancies. Lady Stark was due much earlier before Elie, but not terribly so, and every time he went to check on his Goodwife they were always talking about how their children would be the best of friends and inseparable. Yes, Elianna had found a confidant in Lady Stark, and for that alone Jory would be forever grateful.

He was out in the Godswood when he received word that his father had perished in battle. Never in all of his years had he expected to father to die; yes he knew the time would come like it did for them all, but to think of such a grim subject was beyond him. But now, it was flung into his face, a very real fact that he could not change despite all of his wishes and prayers.

He remained frozen in his spot after he received the news; seemingly dead to the world as he stared on into the eyes of the weirwood, carved eyes crying the tears he had yet to shed. Elianna had fetched him later that night, before the sun had fallen, the woman of nine months pregnant taking him into her arms and whispering soothing words in Old Tongue into his ear. The pain heavy in his heart and on his shoulders wanted him to drown in its depths, yet Elie stayed with him, kept him above the waters of despair.

And then he cried in her arms.

xxx

Winterfell seemed to be nothing but a haze of bittersweet feelings; its people and all of those loyal to the Starks disillusioned. The war had ended; the Mad King was no more and Lyanna Stark's kidnapper was vanquished. All should have been as right as a fairytale, yet that was not what the Gods had just planned. The she-wolf was dying, that much was told to the citizens, but it was the waiting that pained them. And even though her beloved Robert was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms, of the Realm of Westeros, some felt as though the battle was all for naught.

Jory Cassel and his wife Elianna were one of the many that believed this was otherwise. Despite the loss of his father, a death he was still grieving, he still had his uncle, he still had Elie, and soon a new edition to the Cassel family. It may have been a time of uncertainty, but both he and his wife were thankful that their child would be born after the war. The child would grow during a peaceful time in Westeros, where winter had not yet come.

He thanked the Gods for that every morning and night.

"I think – I think it's happening!"

Elianna was seated in their small living quarters, hunched over when Jory had arrived home. Apparently the birth pains had been increasing in intensity and length of time. His father had told him that would happen, and when it did to fetch the maester. In a panic, Jory dashed out from the home and fetched Maester Luwin, who slowly followed the speeding father to be.

When the two men had reached Elie it was truly a sight to see. And by sight to see, it really was quite gruesome. There was a large pool of blood around her legs, and she was letting out cries of anguish. Sweat had doused her skin and she was sucking in air as though she had been deprived it her whole life.

"Maester Luwin, wha – " but before Jory could continue, the elder pushed him aside, making a beeline straight for the Skagosi woman.

"I've seen this before, but we need to deliver quickly or it will be traumatic for both the baby and Elianna." Luwin immediately got to work, shooing Jory to sit with his wife and help her relax and calm despite the extraordinary pain she was clearly in.

"Love, I need you to look at me, can you do that?" Elianna complied, but not without giving her husband a sharp look as a wave of intense pain hit her.

Time seemed to meld together as Jory continued to try and calm Elie down, breathing with her in a soothing rhythm while the maester tried his best to control the bleeding that was occurring. So far he was having no luck, and although the baby seemed to be intent to try and push its way out, the cervical opening did not seem like it could stretch much further.

"Elianna, dear, I need to make a cut in order to help the baby out. I would give you Milk of Poppy, but I'm afraid with the state you're in right now, it will do more harm then good." The woman let out an anguished cry before nodding her head, Jory kissed her forehead, eyes widened in worry.

"Maester, isn't there anyth – " but the young Cassel was cut off by the elder man giving him a wild and distressed look.

"I've tried all I can, this is the only way." The stern yet desperate tone cut Jory to the core, causing him to nod silently before gripping his wife's hands. Not having the stomach to look, Jory kept his eyes locked with Elie's as Maester Luwin began the cut. Her anguished cries only intensified, but Jory kept his hands wound around his wife's, acting as her anchor in the wake of pain.

"Alright, Elianna, I'm going to need you to push," Luwin said, hands heavily bloodied.

"I don't – I don't think I can," her tired pale form was shaking with exhaustion, tears streaming freely down her face. Jory brought her to en face using his hands to cup her face.

"Listen to me, Elie. Everything is going to be fine," she proceeded to let out a few pants of air, as Jory licked his cracked lips, "We're going to do this together, alright?"

Sky blue eyes bore into his brown ones, hope clearly reflected in them along with another feeling Jory could not quite discern. She slowly nodded her head, and he placed a soft kiss to her tear stained cheeks.

"Ready?" Elianna nodded, took in a deep breath and pushed, more cries erupting from her lips. She took in a greedy breath, resting before the maester instructed her to push once more. This continued five more times, until it was announced the baby was crowning.

"Just a couple more Lady Cassel, just a couple more pushes and your baby will be here." Despite the maester's excited tone Jory held concern for his wife, whom seemed to continue to pale throughout the pushing, her breaths more rapid and shallow, yet her tremors had ceased. With a deep breath, a forceful push and scream, Elianna collapsed into her husband's arms, breaths still shallow and eyes fluttering shut.

"It's a girl," cried Maester Luwin, whom cradled the screaming pink infant in his arms, going about to wrap her in cloth. Jory, overjoyed, peppered his wife with kisses.

"Did you hear that, Elie, a little girl!" Jory's excited smile stopped abruptly when his wife did not respond.

"Elianna."

No response.

"Elianna!"

Even as he shook her there was no movement. The breathing had ceased, skin felt awfully cold to the touch. Alerted, the maester placed the now swaddled infant in a nearby crib, hurried over, look of horror on his face. The afterbirth had followed too rapidly, and only half had come out. It was a bloodier scene than previously, the Skagosi woman's pale legs soaked in red, drips falling onto the floor.

"You have to wake up!" Jory's voice had taken on a high volume, as close to a scream as one could get with out actually doing so. Tears welled in his eyes as he continued to try and rouse Elianna while Maester Luwin investigated the scene, grim look on his face as he felt for pulses at any point which he could find. He felt none.

"Jory…"

"She has to wake up…" though the young man was still hysterical, he sounded much more defeated than he had earlier. The maester placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, causing tear filled brown eyes to stare up at him.

"I'm sorry, I thought if we had gotten her to deliver the baby sooner, it would be fine, there would be no complications. Jory I'm – " but the maester's saddened words were cut off by Jory raising his had to silence the elder man.

"She's gone?" The whisper of the question was met with a silent nod, causing the guard to double over in breath. A few silent tears made their way down his face before he looked back up.

"May I – "

"Of course, take all the time you need. I'll be back to claim and clean her," Maester Luwin told him solemnly, giving him a soft squeeze of the shoulder before exiting the house.

Jory stumbled in front of his deceased wife, his Elianna, cupping her face oh so gently as he looked down upon her. Gone. She was gone. What had he done to offend the Gods? First they had taken his father, now his wife, his good sweet wife.

He shook his head of such thoughts, no he could not blame the Gods, and he would not blame Maester Luwin. It was just, Jory felt so hollow, so empty. He would never hear her laugh again, nor see the way her nose would wrinkle when she was frustrated, the softness of her lips upon his like a rose petal. Gone, all of her gone.

"I love you, I'm – I'm sorry I never had the nerve to tell you," Jory said, voice shaky from grief.

He placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, each of her cheeks, and finally her lips, before more tears slipped down from his eyes. And then he heard a cry; a cry so loud it probably could have waken half of Winterfell. The baby. As fast as his legs would carry him, Jory knelt down and lifted the small bundle from the crib, the infant's cries settling easily. Eyes still glassy, Jory stared at the small bundle in his arms, scrunched and pink everywhere except for the beige cloth she was wrapped in.

"A girl," he said softly, and as he placed his hand over one of the babe's own she opened her eyes and gripped one of her father's large fingers. Ice blue. Her eyes were her mother's, icy blue orbs blinking up at him, tiny mouth blowing bubbles. Ever so slowly, he uncovered the head to reveal a tuft of raven black hair. Black, just as her mother's hair. Letting out a silent cry he thanked the Gods; she was her mother's child, just as he had hoped.

And Gods be good he would not have it any other way.

"Alerie," he cooed to the infant, whom gripped his finger tighter in response.

"Alerie Cassel, the most precious jewel in Winterfell," he placed a small kiss on her forehead, "just like your mother."

**A/N: Oh hey there readers! Like I stated earlier, this is my first dabble into GOT so I hope to do it some justice. This is merely a prologue, for the rest of the story will be told through Alerie's POV a majority of the time, and when the time comes there will be chapters with the other OC involved. I look forward to constructive criticism, and I hope anyone who reads this has any sort of feedback for me, so long as it is in a polite professional manner. I hope all who read enjoy this and remember, reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you all!**


	2. Den of the Wolves

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own GRRM nor David Benioff and D.B. Weiss's creations, I simply plan to build off of the lovely vision all three have created in books and television. If I did own ASOIAF, all of the Starks would be alive and have their happily ever afters, along with the Cassels and Mormonts!_

**Den of the Wolves**

_"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."_

_Johann Schiller_

It had been an average day in Winterfell; the sky was overcast, a chill in the air and wind. The gray heavens appeared as though at any time they would open up and snow would come showering the earth. An average day, yet still a lovely one, and Alerie for one would not trade it for anything in the world. That could be the Northerner in her, but she just could not picture living anywhere without snow or a brisk bite to the air. Where the warmth was absent in the air, it was not absent in the people and their hearts. Well, perhaps Septa Mordane was a _slight_ exception to this but that was neither here nor there.

Speaking of the elder woman, the young Cassel had just managed to sneak away from her and Sansa, an orchestrated escape coordinated by none other than Arya Stark. It was more of a mad dash to the door, really, but Alerie was not one to complain, her fingers were starting to burn from needlepoint. Nothing wrong with taking a little break from ladylike duties every once in a while. Judging from Septa's angry screeches the two girls felt as though they were deserters from the Wall, but there was not much the elder girl could do as the youngest Stark daughter tugged her hand, a silent order to move it.

"C'mon 'Lerie, before she catches up!" Alerie Cassel not one to usually go off and disobey Septa Mordane, the woman could scare an Other when she was in a rage, but Arya always had a way of twisting her words and getting her into mischief.

Master manipulator with innocent looks to boot.

"Wait, where are we hiding this time?" The youngest Cassel was a bit like her when she was younger, but that was because she was always following Arya's older brothers and Theon around. Always a follower, never a leader, and Lerie was content with that. Arya continued her pace, rounding a stone pillared corner.

She groaned in annoyance. "My brother's are teaching Bran how to use a bow. You can't tell me that's _not_ more interesting than pricking your fingers making a useless dress?" The sudden change on light stung the elder's eyes, forcing them shut for a few moments before finally seeing that they were outside of the castle.

"I guess I can see your point," she replied, the young Stark giving me a smug look before she could continue, "but we can't keep making this a normal occurrence. Soon Septa Mordane will send both our hides to be tanned." She gave Arya a grin before ruffling her hair, causing a raspberry to be blown in Alerie's general direction.

The Starks, Winterfell, they had become an extension of her family and in turn her life. Her family, House Cassel, was a small bunch comprised of merely of herself, her father Jory, her 'Pop-Pop' Rodrik, and her Auntie Beth. Faithful servants to the household they were apart of and the ones that she essentially grew up with for the past eighteen summers. Robb and Jon, specifically Robb, the ones she grew with from mere tots to young adults, were by far the Starks she was closest too, but each and everyone of them held a spot in her heart. She was lucky; luckier than most were in their lives, having a strong and loving support system. Arya was just one of those components, yet she held important meaning to the Cassel heir as each one of them did.

"Shhh, I think I see them," Arya whispered crouched down behind one of the large barrels and crates piled near the forge. Following suit, Alerie huddled her form near her young friend, the hem of her blue dress already starting to get muddy and worn along with her boots. Her eyes took the same path as the small girl's, noticing four familiar backs. Rickon, the youngest, was perched upon the top of a barrel, watching Robb and Jon instruct Bran with his bow how to shoot. Well, it was not so much as teaching than laughing at the moment, something that caused her to shake her head and tsk.

"And which one of you were a marksman at ten? Go on Bran, keep practicing," she heard Ned Stark, or Lord Stark, say in response, quelling the three brothers' laughter and calm Bran's frustrations.

"Watch this," Arya whispered, turning around and pulling out a bow and arrow from the seemingly thin air.

"Care to show that girls' aim is far better than boys'?" Alerie asked, smirk upon her pink lips and amusement laced in her tone. The small brunette merely mirrored her smirk, before climbing upon a crate, perfect stance and arm cocked, aiming steadily at the target. The raven-haired girl had since risen from her spot gaze shifting from Arya to the target in fashion, waiting for her to release her hold of the arrow. And sure as she thought, the arrow sailed through the air, landing with an audible thump in the center of the target. Said thump drew the attention of not only her four brothers, but also her parents who were watching the scene with keen interest.

"Best be on your way," Alerie stated, small smile in place as the small brunette let out a laugh, dashing off as her younger brother chased after her. Before approaching the eldest Stark boys, she squatted down in front of Rickon, giving him a tight hug.

"Hello Little Wolf." Rickon responded by gripping her harder, as she picked up six-summer child up and spun him around.

"'Lerie, please, put me down!" he laughed, and content that she put a smile and laugh upon the young one's face, she set him down.

"Only because you said please." The grinning child smiled up at her, before he made a mad dash in the direction his elder brother and sister had run to. As strange as it may sound, Alerie sometimes thought of Rickon as her own, not because Lady Stark was never around, but because on most days she worked as a nursemaid for Rickon. This was especially so when he was first born, with Bran, Arya, and even Sansa still at young ages, and at twelve Alerie volunteered to help all that she could. Reading to him, singing to him, allowing him to tug on her raven locks as he giggled and babbled on. The same went for the other children as well when Lady Catelyn was overwhelmed. Since then she had always had a special connection with the youngest Stark. A chill wind picked up, causing her to shiver before clutching her furs ever closer to her.

"Sneaking out lessons again?" Robb called out to her as she approached him and Jon Snow, smiles prominent on both brothers' faces.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just following young Lady Stark's orders," she said with a wink, causing the auburn curled boy to grin as well as his dark haired brother.

"Were you watching us the whole time?"

"No, no we had only just gotten here," she said shaking her head, "and you shouldn't have teased Bran like that, your father was right." This caused Robb to raise his brows.

"It was all in jest," he said, and this time Alerie was the one whose eyebrows elevated.

"Yes, well I'm sure he'll be pleased to find out that his two big brothers were bested by a _girl_ when they first learned bow." Robb's face drained slightly of color while Jon frowned.

"You said you wouldn't tell anyone," pouted Jon. His brother swallowed hard though he had seemed to regain most of his naturally pale coloring.

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "And I haven't," Jon let out a sigh of relief while Robb's tensed shoulders relaxed. "Well…maybe Arya." This caused the dark headed boy to snort, and Robb to send her a playful glare.

"You're a foul influence on my sweet, sweet sister," Robb told her, grin and laugh, causing Alerie to smile and laugh as well.

It was the sounds of footsteps crunching against the stony earth that drew the trio's attention away from each other. Her father, granduncle, and Theon Greyjoy approached them, stony features upon their faces, causing each of them to straighten themselves up.

"What's happening?" She implored, approaching the three men. Jory reached for his daughter, engulfing her in a hug before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. She gave a small smile, her father's beard tickling her skin just the slightest.

"Jewel," Alerie could not help but notice that all three of them looked as though they were off to travel somewhere with their stocked furs and riding boots, not to mention swords in the sheaths. "There has been a deserter," he told her quietly, searching her ice blue eyes for understanding. And he found it. She knew of what happened to Night's Watch members whom left their post. Execution. Breaking one's vows was not taken upon lightly, and though it was not an everyday occurrence, she was no stranger to seeing the men she cared for go rigid as they went out to complete such a dreaded task.

Jory gave his daughter a soft look and slight smile. "We'll be back before you even know it," he told her, "I'm sure Rickon will distract you in the meantime." Alerie slowly nodded, her father giving her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder before heading off towards the stables. Her hair swished out of her face as turned to look over her shoulder.

"You'll be careful?" She asked Jon and Robb, eyes shining with hope and anxiety. Jon simply sent her a quiet nod of his mop of dark curls; stubble covered lip and chin face softening yet filled with encouragement. Robb's blue eyes softened, sending her a sad smile before speaking.

"It'll only be a short while, 'Lerie," he came up to her and looped his one pinkie around her own, "promise." He said so softly, tilting her head up by her chin, blue pools meeting blue conveying that he would do as she asked. She took in his features; auburn stubble to match his curls and strong sculpted face gazing down at her. Alerie gave him a wide smile before nodding her head, stepping slowly away from him to make her way towards the castle. She didn't miss Theon's knowing smirk directed towards her, which caused her to roll her eyes and blush.

xxx

_It was Alerie's tenth nameday and as always there were clouds blanketing the gray sky, a threat of an impending snowstorm. A small girl was seated on the ground amidst the Godswood, dirt and mud marring the skirts of the new burgundy dress she was wearing. Black boots lay sprawled out across the ground with knitted socks, exposing small porcelain white feet and toes to the biting air. Small leather gloved hands played with the fur pelt draped over her, ebony locks wild and in disarray._

_"'Lerie?" The small familiar voice caused the small girl to spin around, button nose sniffling and large eyes wide and glassy. Intense blue eyes so – so sad it was nearly overwhelming, and especially on a celebratory occasion such as her nameday._

_A hiccup escaped her. "Robb?" She asked, rubbing the unshed tears from her eyes, displeased that her friend had caught her in such a state. The small, lanky ten-summer boy approached her slowly, frown etched upon his pale face, auburn curls shifting slightly in the wind as he approached her. Dress trousers and tunic of browns and black with a haphazard pelt of fur thrown over his shoulders were present. He no doubt came from the Nameday Feast that was being held within the Great Hall for her. The one Alerie was so obviously avoiding._

_"Why aren't at the party?" The young boy had since taken up seat next to her on the ground; frown deepening at the lack of coverage on her feet. "And why aren't you wearing your boots or socks?" Pink, rosy lips in a pout, Alerie grimaced and then scowled at Robb._

_"Why aren't _you_ at the party?" She parroted towards him, nasty look upon her normally sweet cherub face. The redhead simply rolled his blue eyes before crossing his arms, reprimanding look about him._

_He pointed a pale finger at her. "_I'm_ not there because I came looking for _you_," and she responded with a frown. "Your father is looking everywhere for you," he told her, tone softening when he noticed his friend's eyes begin to water. Unsure of himself, the young Stark started to pick at the muddy earth, an action his friend was doing as well._

_"What's wrong 'Lerie? You can tell me…" A squeak of sadness escaped the young girl causing Robb's eyes to widen in surprise of the sound. He was no expert in girls, or comforting girls, or what made them feel better, or, well…girls in general. But he did know Alerie, and he knew Alerie would tell him anything; she just needed time to contemplate what to say. And by her wrinkled nose and scrunched up eyes she was definitely thinking of what exactly to tell him._

_"I guess – I just wish my mother was here," she said, wiping her eyes with her muddied gloves, dirt smudged across her cheeks and eyes. _

_This year her father had told her of the nature of her mother's death, not the details of course, but when, and that was on her Nameday. She had always silently wondered why her father seemed just the slightest bit somber in the morning of her day, and when he told her, well, it all pieced together. Jory had assured his daughter when she began to cry that he did not blame her, that she was a gift and that he treasured her above all other things, but that still did not take the pain of the nature of her birth away. _

_What had her mother been like? Her father had always went on and on about how she was the spitting image of her, that she was a proper lady yet she could shoot an arrow like the most skilled archer. What Alerie really wanted to know was what she would be like as a mother, as _her_ mother. Would she love her or would she be cold? Did she love her father as he had loved her? Would she have told her the Skagosi stories her father had told her at night, or would her mother keep those locked away all to herself? What had really upset her though was seeing Lady Stark lovingly kiss and dote upon babies Bran and Arya, and toddler Sansa during the feast. Why couldn't she have a mother; would her birth mother be at all like Lady Stark was, that loving and kind? _

_In Alerie's mind it was all her fault that she had no mother, and that was the reason she had fled to the Godswood, dirtying the dress and various clothes she did not deserve. Robb had sensed this from what she told him, because not only her tear-streaked face had shown these worries and insecurities, but also because Alerie had told him and Jon earlier this afternoon what her father told her. At the time she had not seemed upset, but judging from her appearance now she had been hiding that from Robb._

_He nudged her shoulder softly with his own. "Hey," he said with a soft smile, "if it makes you feel better I think my mom likes you better than me sometimes." Another hiccup escaped the small girl's mouth. "That basically makes you, like, family," black hair spun suddenly, blue eyes wide in attention._

_"Really?"_

_Auburn curls bobbed as he nodded. "Of course, but we would think of you as that anyway. You, your father, Ser Rodrick, Lady Beth. You're all family," he told her quietly, tracing patterns in the mud while gazing at the sky. Alerie, however, was staring at Robb in wonder and a smile was working its way onto her face._

_"And if your mother was here, she'd be an honorary Stark, too." He said this with pride, face turning to look at her face, goofy grin and nose stuck up in the air. A loud laugh escaped the Cassel heir causing Robb to retaliate by sticking his tongue out at her. Another laugh was let loose, and this time he joined her as well, the joyous sounds echoing of the weirwood trees and their solemn faces. The laughter died down slowly, and Alerie began putting on her socks and boots once more._

_"Do you really mean that, Robb?" They stood at about the same height, eye to eye, one partial dirty, and the other one filthy. Quite the comical scene if it were not for the conversation. Smile on his face, he held out his one pinkie finger to her, a look of confusion crossed her._

_"What're you doing?"_

_He continued to smile. "We're swearing on it. Link your pinkie with mine." Though she was hesitant at first, she slowly wrapped her small finger around his own in a close embrace._

_"Alerie Cassel, I promise that you will always be my family."_

_"And you to mine," she said proudly, dirtied face grinning in reflection to the cleaner one that was Robb's._

_"Promise," they chanted together. And with that they shook their heads, pact made amidst the Godswood. They both knew they would never break it, never in their entire lives._

_"Mother is going to throw a fit when she see's you covered in mud."_

xxx

Direwolves. They were gone for a couple of hours, not enough for Alerie to begin to worry even as a light showering of snow began to fall. Snow in Winterfell was a common occurrence throughout the seasons, truly a sight she would never grow sick of. It was as if they brought the snow with them, the sky opening up in celebration in their return, and the direwolves a lovely surprise. The young Cassel was thrilled and nearly stole one of the pups for her own if it were not for her Pop Pop shooing her away. It was unbelievable to her; she had always dreamed of either having a wolf or a direwolf to call her own. Yes, Alerie understood that the mammals were not meant to be domesticated pets, but for some reason she was just drawn to the idea. Perhaps it was because the Cassel sigil bore ten wolves and the Stark's a direwolf, but there was magnetism, like moths to a flame.

Six pups for the six Stark children, even Jon had gotten one, something she was extremely pleased to learn of and see. Both Rickon and Sansa had named their pups immediately once they had chosen them. Sansa had dubbed her wolf Lady, the smallest pup of the bunch, so sweet and docile, already taking to her master's personality. Rickon dubbed his wolf Shaggydog, shock black and piercing green eyes, though small Alerie could tell he would take to his master's wild nature in time. The youngest Stark had been so concerned with his pup's name Alerie had to coo to him that the name was fine and befitting of him, whose hair was indeed quite shaggy.

The four remaining Stark children had yet to name their wolves, though she was taken with all six of them. So small and innocent, such as children, held similar personalities that would soon shape as they aged, no doubt. The small gray wolf Robb had claimed was particularly charming to young woman, nipping softly at her heels and licking her fingers as she played with him and his littermates.

"All the attention you're showering him with, it's almost like I'm not here!" He exclaimed, causing Alerie looked up at him, shy look to her eyes and smile.

"Well, he is certainly handsome, he has all that facial hair that you're lacking!" The words were in jest, mostly because they were not true, for Alerie thought Robb very handsome, something she would not rightly admit out loud, though she could not figure out why that was.

Robb sent her a playful glare before initiating an equally playful shoving contest causing Jon to simply smile and shake his head before muttering something softly to himself. The night had further gone on before Alerie excused herself to bed, bidding the two goodnight, as well as the unnamed pups. Her quarters were not to far from the hall itself, and to her surprise she found her father waiting outside the door. Curious…yet she did not protest.

"Alerie, my jewel," he said pulling her into yet another hug, light brown hair cropped at his shoulders still matted from the snowfall.

She frowned at him. "Is something wrong, Father?" She questioned, nose wrinkling at the sight of the dirty hem of her dress. She probably should have gotten changed for dinner, but she was rather fond of the dress and would simply have it washed on the morrow.

"Nothing at all," he told her while scratching his stubbled chin in thought. "I hardly had time to say goodnight to you with those wretched direwolves around." She could tell that although he may have been joking, he might have been bothered, not with her, but about something. He had been acting off since they returned home from the execution with the direwolves.

She gave him a pointed look, arms crossing her chest. "Really?" Black brows raised in intrigue, Jory laughed at his daughter before shaking his head.

"You remind me of your mother so much right now," he said fondly, causing Alerie to soften.

"Father, what's wrong?"

Jory let out a sigh before answering. "It's just…the manner in which we found the pups." Robb had told her though; they had found the pups' mother dead as they were huddled near her. She did not find it strange in any sense, just sad but she was happy that Bran had stopped Theon from killing them. She tilted her head to the side.

"The antler of a stag was sliced through her throat," was his grim response, and Alerie shook in disturbance. Well, Robb had certainly left out that detail, yet she still did not understand why her father was so uneasy.

"Direwolves also haven't been spotted south of the Wall for hundreds of years, 'Lerie. And well…the deserter…he said something curious." His daughter stiffened; wanting to know of the execution, yet at the same time know nothing at all. Her father remained silent for a few moments, brow lines taught with concern.

"What – what did he say?"

Instead of answering, Jory placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder and gave it a loving squeeze. "Nothing," he murmured and then smiled at her. "Nothing, just – I want you to be careful.

She gave him a soft smile of her own. "You know I am," she said with the same softness as the look upon her.

"I know, I know, I just worry about you." His daughter was never to adventure about without someone since her tenth nameday, and like all the other children of Winterfell it included not going into the Wolfswood without a proper adult. No, Jory's worry for her was always present somewhere buried within him, humming beneath his skin and surging through his blood. Alerie knew better to question him further on why he was suddenly so apt to proclaiming his anxieties about her, so instead she placed a gentle kiss to his rough cheek.

"I will Father." The smile he gave her was a weary one, but she accepted it all the same.

"Alright, off to bed with you!" He shooed her, causing her to laugh before telling him 'goodnight.'

That night as she lay in her large bed, curled in an ocean of fur and quilts, Alerie Cassel dreamt of direwolves and snow.

**A/N: Happy Fourth to all the 'Mericans reading this! Also, may I add that I am celebrating the fact that I passed my nursing boards and am officially a RN, so this chapter is a treat for you all. Thank you all so very much to those who favorited this and followed this, but an extra special thank you to _rikka21_, _x XRoweenaJAugustineX x_, _CherryBlossomTrinity_, _this-love-is-sirius_, and _Soccer-Bitch_! You all are the reason I updated as fast as I could because this is the most reviews I have ever gotten for a fic before, eeeeeee! Okay, so this was chapter 1 and I hope you all enjoyed it, and chapter 2 should be in the makings in the near near future. Please remember, I will love you for ages if you review because eklrfjoewrkjglfwejkfl;eqwjfk!**

**Next up: The royal caravan arrives in Winterfell; more Robb and Alerie; and Bran's fall!**


	3. Dancing with Fate

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own GRRM nor David Benioff and D.B. Weiss's creations, I simply plan to build off of the lovely vision all three have created in books and television. If I did own ASOIAF, all of the Starks would be alive and have their happily ever afters, along with the Cassels and Mormonts!_

**Dancing with Fate**

_"Without a single thought, two hands collide and the world finally makes sense again."_

_Kayla Dawn_

The old castle was a flurry of activity; servants of Winterfell and the King's own were bustling about the halls in a mix of excitement, anxiety, and exhaustion. From handmaidens to cooks, everyone seemed to have their own part in prepping for the welcoming feast for the King and Queen. Alerie was currently making herself appear busier than she was, helping her friend Merilee Mollen set one of the various long tables. Helping would be a generous term, for currently the young Cassel was merely folding cloth napkins as neatly as she could while lightly chatting (or distracting, what have you) with the pretty tawny headed girl next to her.

It was getting closer and closer for the feast to begin, and Alerie had yet to get ready, putting it off due to nerves of being in front of the Royal Family. King Robert seemed harmless enough, what with the rumors of him being a renowned drunk and womanizer he would most likely be occupied with wine, ale, and wenches. It was the Lannisters and their gold spun hair that made the young woman's skin crawl. There was just something so cold and calculating behind those green eyes of theirs, the young Prince Joffery falling into this category as well. She would just try as hard as she could to stay away from the head table at the feast, and only go if summoned by Lady Stark or Sansa, wanting to avoid the lions at any chance that she could.

Merilee paused in her motions. "How much longer before you are going to get ready?" The servant girl wondered this aloud, causing her raven-haired friend to simply shrug her shoulders. "Lady Stark isn't having you help ready the younger ones before the feast?" This of course was in reference to Arya, whom had been refusing actively to wear a new dress for said feast for the past month.

The youngest Stark daughter made sure that everyone in Winterfell was aware of this, Alerie and Merilee just two of the inhabitants that were well informed of the matter.

"No, Lady Stark thought it would be a matter best dealt with herself," she snorted, her friend's giggling echoing throughout the stone walls of the hall. Alerie did not envy the Lady of Winterfell with trying to wrestle her younger children into their formal wear. Bran would be the easiest of the three young ones, but Rickon and Arya would no doubt make up for his pleasantness with whining and shouts.

She would no doubt check in with Sansa before going off to get ready herself; the young flame haired girl had expressed an interest in braiding her hair. Merilee began lighting the candles on the table, the last task that needed to be completed, and the orange flames shined off of her ivory skin, murky blue eyes a glow. Her intricately braided hair were of small braids weaved throughout her straight locks, making the short Cassel wonder if Sansa would do so with her own hair.

"I bet if it were Robb you would volunteer in a heartbeat," the sly statement causing Alerie to choke on her own spit. As an amused giggle was heard, an icy stare was sent to match her eyes, black hair currently wild almost as if standing on edge.

Her eyes narrowed at the blonde. "What in the hells, Merry?!" The exclamation just caused further amusement from the normally quiet and timid girl.

Merilee Mollen was one of the more quiet girls in Winterfell, not one to immerse herself in the gossip that was usually clucked about by others. Perhaps it was this trait that drew Alerie to the girl, herself also averse to discussing trivial matters. Her father, Hollis Mollen, seemed to be the exact opposite of his daughter, up until this current moment that is.

"Oh come off it, you know what I'm talking about," she said quietly, causing a violent blush to creep up on Alerie's cheeks, neck, and ears. Normally quite gentle and patient, the young Cassel heir found herself wanting to stomp away from her friend in a combination of outrage and embarrassment.

She crossed her arms. "I haven't got the slightest clue what you're going on about," she huffed, having long since abandoned folding napkins.

Merilee merely stuck up her rather large nose in the air, brow quirked with annoyance. "You _know_ what I'm referring to," she said haughtily, finger poking her friend's gray dressed chest. "Both you and Robb," she whispered, "have been looking at each other differently and doing this awkward dance since his nameday celebration four summers ago." Her claim was not false, something which caused her to sigh in frustration.

Four summers ago Alerie had started to experience her first moon's blood, the simplest things could make her go into a tizzy of emotions in which her father had awkwardly dubbed 'The Wiles of Becoming a Woman.' And then she started to see Robb differently; his slight baby fat vanishing, muscles beginning to sculpt his every growing frame, fiery stubble erupting on his face, and deepened voice suddenly became exciting and intoxicating to her, something she had once regarded as queer and frightening.

The awkward dance Merry had been referred involved two sorts of things. The first being the two sidestepping each other the entire night, bashful looks stolen when the other did not notice, stuttered words at seeing the other 'cleaned up.' The second being an actual dance that Robb had hesitantly asked of her, and though it had started off as awkward indeed, the close proximity and heat radiating off one another became pleasant throughout the song. The dance had lingered longer than a dance with a friend should, intervened by her tense looking father, something she was not sure she was rather happy or mad about. Halfway through the dance it felt as though a colony of butterflies flew about her stomach and her mouth ran dry just from Robb's intense ocean blue gaze upon her. Things after the nameday feast had somewhat settled to the norm between the two, yet the butterflies remained with her, making themselves known oft when she was alone with Robb, when subtle brushes against skin and lingering gazes were prominent.

Alerie cleared her throat, while Merilee's smirk softened. "Hmmm, that's what I thought," she remarked, before marching over to another long table to light its set of candles. "You should go," the blonde waved her hand, "you'll want to be looking your best for Robb tonight." She then quickly added 'and the Royal Party' in a mutter, causing Alerie to shake her ebony curled head and roll her eyes. She then gave her friend a soft wave before scurrying off to her quarters to prepare herself for the feast, but not without thinking on what Merry had said.

Though the words were no doubt true, she would refuse to admit it, not wanting to tarnish her cherished friendship, but also because she was only 95% sure that those queer feelings were more than friendship, so there was still a 5% chance she was wrong. Yes, the logical side would be the safer thoughts to acknowledge rather than the ones that made her heart thump wildly in her chest.

xxx

The hundreds upon hundreds of candles set the hall alight in a bright orange glow, the festive sounds of lutes and drums combined with the gaiety of laughter and song made the Welcoming Feast officially a success. Table upon table was filled with the finest delicacies of food and drink that the North could offer, imported southern flowers acting as accents along with touches of rowan berries and pine needles on each centerpiece. The tables, though occupied, were not completely full due to the large influx of people choosing to dance and jig along with the rhythm of the music. Alerie was one of the many seated, enjoying the scene, hands clapping along to the tune and full pink lips in a smile. Her aunt and her both sat together, Beth chatting with another lady, no doubt scorning the scene of King Robert with serving wenches in his lap, while her father and Pop-Pop had since went to go converse with Benjen Stark who had arrived not terribly long ago. Merilee had since departed to the dance floor, having been asked by one of the stable hands. Her ivory skin turned scarlet shortly after Alerie gave her a wink and a whistle in jest.

Despite the fact that she had not seen the Starks since the entrance precession, she was having a lovely time simply people watching and being amongst her family. She had a nice view of when Arya flung food at her dear sister; a reluctant laugh had materialized, but was soon blown out seeing the smarmy Joffery ask the smitten Sansa for a dance. Now, the raven-haired girl was never one to judge, but there was just something off about the young blonde prince. Aside from treating servants as derelicts, he always had a look upon him as though something foul smelling was stuck under his nose, a look which greatly bothered her. She would never voice that he was a prick out loud as Robb did, but she silently agreed with his observation, and therefore was displeased at seeing the prince and the eldest Stark daughter dance.

"Alerie?" Said Cassel's ice blue gaze was intercepted with a deep blue one, question upon their lips in a self-conscious quiver.

She promptly cleared her throat and began fiddling with the thumbs. "Hello Robb," she quavered with a tone as equally as nerve filled as well. Since her conversation with Merilee she had been more skittish around Robb the remainder of the day, especially when meeting his eyes before entering the hall. What was peculiar to her was that Robb was now just as skittish as she currently, clean shaven jaw and lip quirking and falling ever so slightly.

"I was – well I was wondering" he started, clasping his large hands behind his back. "Well I was wondering if you'd like to dance with me?" Her eyes widened in shock and surprise, a pleasant jolt surging through her. Robb's own widened as well, before holding up his hands to her. "You don't have to though – I mean I would understand, I'm not the best dancer anyway, and I wouldn't want to step on your pretty feet."

His ramblings, specifically his last comment caused Alerie to cough wildly in surprise, while the heir of Winterfell continued to panic. "I mean your feet, I don't think they're pretty," he rushed, "I mean they are pretty, but no – that's not what I meant –" but Alerie's coughing turned to laughter has interrupted him.

"It's alright Robb," she said softly, "I would like to dance with you." She bit her tongue from saying 'very much' not wanting to appear overly enthusiastic as she felt. A look of relief passed over Robb's face, a breath being released from his tightly wound chest, bright white teeth smiling at her.

He held out a hand for her, seemingly much more relaxed than he was previously. "My lady," he teased with a twinkle in his blue eyes and grin betwixt his lips. Alerie flashed him a toothy smile as well, softly placing her small hand in his, heart fluttering in her chest at the warm surge of skin-to-skin contact.

She felt a pair of eyes burning through the back of her head, no doubt her aunt's brown ones and no doubt shining in interest at the awkward scene that was enfolding. Slowly the pair made their way to the dance floor, cluttered with various couples and children weaving through the crowds. The tune was a rather slow one, but not terribly so, with an upbeat tempo at the right moments.

Gingerly, Robb placed his hands on Alerie's waist, his own heart pulsing in excitement as he did this. Ice blue eyes glanced up at him, his form easily towering over her, as she in turn placed her hands on his shoulders. The pair, though shyly smiling at one another began to slowly sway with the music, steps keeping up with the beat of the music, and with what was originally tense and hormonal soon dissolved into comfort and ease. The hormones were still there, naturally being the adolescents they were they would always be present. The feelings of overexcitement, fluttering, curiosity, and magnetism were both swarming about the bodies of both of them, intensified by the close contact. Both of them were ignorant of how the other may have been feeling; yet there was relaxing connection as they moved in tandem, together by touch.

"You look beautiful," Robb blurted out and contained the urge to cover his mouth with his hand. A wave of red masked Alerie's face and she could feel her throat run dry. Before she could murmur a thank you to him, he quickly began speaking.

"Your dress is lovely," he added, perhaps to draw attention away from what he confessed and for the moment it worked.

Alerie bit her lip in thought. "Thank you, it was my mother's."

Her father had given the jade green gown to her just the previous week, lace sleeves and neckline absolutely enchanting. According to Jory it had been the same gown Eliana had worn when they first met, their first dance occurring in it as well. An intricate fishtail braid Sansa had done, punctuated with dogwood flowers gave her a natural glow, one that Robb had noticed as soon as he had spotted her at the beginning of the feast. A few ebony tresses framed her face, as she lowered her gaze from his momentarily, then meeting his gaze once more. She had never thought herself a stunning beauty, such as Sansa or Lady Catelyn, but the look Robb was currently giving her made her feel like the most desirable woman in all the Seven Kingdoms.

"'Lerie I'm sor – " Robb began, eyes widened in panic. Alerie, however, cut him off with a shake of her head.

"Robb it's fine," she told him as they continued their dance. "I'm actually rather fond of the dress." Robb beamed back, the ease he had found before resurfacing once more. It faltered momentarily and was replaced with a grimace and a scowl, one that she discovered was not directed at her but at the sight just beyond her shoulder. Turning her head just the slightest her eyes took in the scene; Sansa with a giddy smile and her hands firmly placed on a smirking Prince Joffrey's shoulders, his own hands were dangerously low on her waist. Alerie frowned.

"Robb…" she said in warning, and though she did not like the Prince any less than he, his glaring was not going to help the situation.

"He's a prick," he hissed, eyes still glued into narrow slits at the younger couple. "A stupid, smarmy _prick_." If he had not said the words with such conviction and venom she probably would have started laughing, but instead she peered up at him through her dark lashes, pink lips scrunched to the side in thought.

"You staring daggers won't change that," she simply said, though Robb's steely gaze remained locked to where it was.

Alerie scoffed before bringing her flat covered foot on top of his with force causing the fiery-headed male to stumble and look at her agape.

"What was that for!?"

She threw him a sly smile; the blush that had started to fade was making its way back up to her face out of embarrassment of her actions. "You dunder-headed brute, you think with two sisters and being around me your whole life you'd start to understand us." She said so with tenet, despite the fact she was colored as brilliantly as a tomato. "Being angry and talking terribly about him will just drive her further into his arms, but maybe if you sat and actually _talked_ to her…" she suggested. He merely let out a sigh, probably out of annoyance, and rolled his eyes before he met her eyes once more.

His lips were in a pursed thin line before he nodded at her. "I'll try…I can't promise I won't stop referring to him as a prick, though." A tinkling of laughter escaped her, the song long since changing to a lighter tune, though neither had paid much attention to it.

"I'll talk to her before I go talk to Jon later." This immediately caught her attention, causing Alerie's grip to slightly tighten on his shoulders.

"What do you need to talk to Jon about?" She asked, eyes shining in confusion.

Robb suddenly appeared nervous and uneasy, a different manner than when he had approached her to dance. "It's not really my place to tell…" he started, eyes shifting about the room as if Jon would suddenly materialize.

They both knew better; Lady Stark banned him from the feast and he was probably outside training to let out his aggression. At the sight of her down turned pout Robb let out a heavy breath before giving her a soft smile and nodded his head towards the door. The look clearly read to go and ask Jon to find out, and the sable-headed girl let out a shaky breath before releasing her grip on his shoulders reluctantly. She frowned; she immediately missed the warmth of being so close to the Stark heir. He however gave her an encouraging look, hands lingering on her waist before they drifted away, causing her frown to deepen.

"What's the matter?" Robb asked her, remaining inches from her and her face, something she had not noticed until just this moment. She let in a shaky breath before nibbling on her lip, deciding to voice her thoughts.

"I just – well I just never had a chance to tell that y-you look really handsome tonight," she breathed out with a face now taking on a shade dangerously close to purple. Though Robb appeared slightly amused, his blue eyes were alight and a smile to match.

"Y-you really mean that? Truthfully?" He stumbled, slightly flabbergasted. Feeling bold at his surprise of her confession, she leaned in closer standing on the tips of her toes before placing a feather light kiss on his cheek.

Though light and gentle it felt as though her lips began to burn, a pleasant tingle coursing over the soft skin there and working its way across her face. His face was pleasantly soft from his shave and she found that she rather liked the look on him, though accustomed to the beard he had been trying to grow for the past year or so. She would think him handsome in any look, truthfully, clean shaven or red beard a mile long.

She had done the unthinkable; she admitted to Robb that he was handsome, giving into the fluctuations of hormones and swarms of butterflies in her blood. The close proximity to him pushed her over the edge, pupils dilated, palms sweaty, and heart racing. The words escaped her and the kiss was like a natural reflex that she could not control. Four summers of queer feelings repressed, and now they were slowly oozing their way out of her pores and lapping for air. As she pulled back she immediately swallowed her nerves, observing his dumbstruck and dreamy look before she shyly waved and weaved her way through the crowds, making her way to the stables and forge. Alerie missed the smile on Eddard Stark's face at the display, as well as the grimace her father held upon the sight.

xxx

It had taken a bit of time for her to weave through the hall, the festivities of the feast congesting so many people into one place. So many people under the influence of ale and wine, Alerie thought she might vomit from the smell alone. She was by no means a prude when it came to alcohol, in fact this evening she herself had indulged in a nice large glass of Dornish wine the Lady Stark had imported for the Queen, but she never really had the desire to get drunk. She had once, or at least tried to, but ended up with her face in a chamber pot for a majority of the night, Robb stroking her back and Theon with a shit eating grin trying to get her to eat some bread. It was an unpleasant experience, and she had no intentions on a repeat of doing so anytime soon or anytime in the future altogether.

She had finally made her way to the closed solid oak doors that would lead to the grounds of Winterfell, a strong shove forcing one of the two to open. A brisk, sharp gust of cold wind greeted her, small flurries tickling her face and causing the flushing over face to fade away. She was grateful for that, letting out a content sigh that materialized as a cloud against the night sky. The cold was heaven sent compared to the stuffy and crowded hall she was in prior, and doubted she would miss her pelts or gloves for that matter. Alerie was about to bound down the steps towards the echoing of grunts and thrashing, no doubt an angry Jon, when she noticed what appeared to be the dark outline of a child approaching. Well, that was what it appeared to be at first until the outline and its shadow came closer.

A bit taller than four feet, mop of golden curls upon his head, green eyes twinkling with mischief, and a smirk that held an air of satisfaction and superiority. Dressed in the finest robes for a man of his stature, his swagger oozed wealth. Tyrion Lannister, or _the Imp_ as so many others and Arya referred to him as.

"My lady, you look as though you've never seen a dwarf before…do I have the pleasure of being your first?" The blunt yet lewd question threw her for a loop until she realized her manners, and that she was in fact staring.

Shamed, Alerie lowered her head and curtsied. "My apologies, Lord Tyrion, it's just – the heat from inside must've gotten to me you see an – " but the blonde cut her off from her ramblings.

"I assure you no apologies are necessary, I'm quite aware of how my _appearance_ makes people react," he slurred slightly.

The cunning lord leaned forward slightly, studying her for a moment and scrutinizing her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head and raven curls. It was unsettling to the least, and the Cassel girl began to chew on her lower lip trying to think of a way to excuse herself politely without further insulting the lord.

"You," he wagged a finger at her, "you're the Cassel girl. The Skagg's daughter." Alerie visibly flinched at the derogative term, not liking the confidence his smirk took on at her reaction.

The dark haired girl held her head high, swallowing a biting reply. "My mother was _Skagosi_, yes," she said so softly yet it was filled with pride despite his crude remark. "Alerie Cassel. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Tyrion," she said.

The dwarf merely gave her another smirk. He had heard of her, naturally, and of the tragedy that her father had been through. Word of mouth spread fast through Westeros whether it be face to face or via raven. The two, as different as they may have looked, had something mutually in common; their lives had killed their mothers'. Perhaps that was why he did not wish to continue to verbally prod the woman and make her squirm. That, and from what he could tell she was a proper lady, and should be treated as such.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you." He then cocked his head to the side. "May I inquire as to why a lady such as yourself is out wandering the grounds without a proper escort, if it pleases you of course?" Every word was spoken with staunch confidence, no real arrogance noted, and the smirk seemed tattooed upon him. Despite his demeanor, however, Alerie found nothing really distrustful about it, merely infuriating. She would merely swallow the annoyance, as all ladies did, and offered him a smile, albeit a strained one.

"Just needed some fresh air," she quickly lied, noting that the distant angry grunts had since died down into calmer ones. The look the little Lord gave her, however clearly read that he might know what she was up to.

"Ah, congratulating the Snow boy then?"

Alerie was, at this moment, three things. One: in awe that he seemed to know everything about her despite not knowing the girl whatsoever. Whom did he get his information from, and how did they obtain it in the first place? Two: outraged at the referral of Jon merely being some bastard with no importance to him. He was a Stark damnit, maybe not by name but he certainly was by blood, and he should be regarded as such. Third: confusion, because what would she be congratulating Jon about? Confusion must have won out on her face, because Tyrion answered her internal query.

"He didn't tell you he was taking the Black? I'm surprised, he was quite vocal and proud about it when I talked with him," he told her.

Though she should have listened closer to what the Lannister was saying, all she had heard was taking the Black. Alerie could feel her stomach drop and nausea turn her gut. She knew he always talked of going to the Wall, but that's all she ever really thought it was…talk. Suddenly it was all too real and felt like a punch to her throat, as though she could not breathe. Dumbstruck could be the simple term on how she currently felt.

"Lady Alerie, are you quite alright, you look ill?" The slight concern from Tyrion's voice called the young woman from her thoughts, no matter how overwhelming and suffocating they were. She shook her head, braids shook some loose in the action, ice eyes seeming to shine brighter in the light of the moon.

"It appears I got all of the air I needed for the time being. It was nice meeting you, Lord Tyrion."

She gave him a final curtsy before heading back inside, a flurry of thoughts flying through her mind. She could not talk to Jon now though, no, not while she was upset, she would just do so at another time. A time when she was not so riled up and ready to bite his head off for committing himself to such a dangerous task. The butterflies, the tingling on her lips, Robb's dreamy look, they were all extinguished with the dreary thoughts of Jon leaving and leaving for good.

**A/N: So there we have it, the Welcoming Feast! Now I wanted to include her talking to Jon and the whole Bran incident, but I found that was way to ambitious to place that plus this content into one chapter. Don't worry, that will be touched upon in the next update. I hope you all enjoy this one, and I hope it's good and isn't all rushed seeming but if it is please tell me, I would greatly appreciate that. Any critiques are welcome! A great big thank you to all those that Favorites and Followers, and an extra special thank you to _duchess123_, _CherryBlossomTrinity_, _Soccer-Bitch_, _RavenclawPrincess90_, and _amrawo_. You guys are the best; reviews feed my muse and 10 reviews for two chapters is the most I've gotten for a story so far, so thank you so much. **

**Now I have a few questions for my wonderful readers, and I would be very happy if you responded to them, so even the shy ones I would appreciate your thoughts and input on them. 1) How do you like Alerie so far? _Is she a Mary-Sue?_ 2) Does everyone cannon seem to be in-character so far? 3) What would you like to see happen through the events of _SWS_?**

**Until next time!**


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